Page 68 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
I scootch further down in the covers and stifle a yawn. “Don’t let me fall back asleep or I’ll never sleep tonight.”
“I can do that,” he promises.
But it’s a lie, because some time later I wake up to find Spencer asleep beside me. He’s turned toward me, his dark lashes fanning his cheeks. His right hand rests on my hip.
It’s hard to swallow around the lump lodged in my throat.
I don’t think about the past often. What’s the point in that? It’s a time gone by and there’s no going back. But this feels like a peek at whatcould’ve beenif I had stayed.
Maybe I was a coward for leaving him instead of strong like I thought at the time.
Maybe every time he reached out his hand to help me I should’ve held on instead of running the opposite way.
Maybe—
No.
I stop my thoughts on their tracks. I’m not doing this. I’m not playing the what if game. We’re where we are now and focusing on the past is useless.
I roll away from him and the gesture jerks him awake.
“Fuck,” he curses. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What time is it?” He doesn’t bother waiting for my response. I peek over to see him pull his phone from his pocket. “I have to get Monroe. Will you be okay until I get back?”
“I’m fine.”
I’m not feeling nauseous so that’s good, but my body is still slightly achy.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He gets up and smooths the quilt where it’s ruffled from his body. “Hang tight,” he warns with a pointed finger.
“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”
Despite how tired and achy I feel, I know a shower will go a long way to making me feel better. Grabbing clean pajamas, I lock myself in the bathroom and turn the shower on to warm.
In the mirror, my skin appears sallow with dark circles beneath my eyes.
I lookroughso I think the shower is the smartest move.
It takes me longer than normal to wash my hair, but by the time I get out of the shower and comb out the wet strands I feel much better. I put on my clean pajamas and swipe Jameson’s oversized sweatshirt off the hook on the bathroom door and tug it on. It practically swallows me whole and feels like a giant blanket, which is exactly what I want.
I pad my way into the kitchen and pour a fresh glass of water. I still don’t feel like eating, but I know I should try to get something in me. The toast Jameson made me would be stale by now, but I could make a fresh piece.
I’m buttering the toast when the door opens and Roe bursts inside, swinging her backpack around and nearly taking out the lamp.
“Whoa, kid.” Spencer rights the lamp as she dashes down the hall. He holds several grocery bags in one hand and comes over to set them on the counter.
“What’s all that?” I ask and take a bite. Toast crumbs fall onto Jameson’s sweatshirt.
“I thought I’d make you soup.”
“Soup?” I repeat dumbly.
“Yes, soup.” He begins to unpack the items, revealing loads of veggies and broth. “You always did like my mom’s vegetable soup.”
I look away at the mention of his mother. I haven’t seen her or Spencer’s dad in years. Why would I? Without Spencer in my life, it’s not like it makes sense for me to see them, but I do miss them.
“You know how to make her soup?” I ask skeptically.
“I asked her to teach me.” He shrugs and I swear the fabric of his shirt screams in protest. Whatever he’s doing in the gym has put a massive amount of muscle on him. I’m certain I couldn’tfit both hands around his bicep. “Roe?” He calls out to our daughter. “I bet you have homework. Bring it in here.”
